


Nothing Between

by thefrogg



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-12-05 22:55:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/728829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefrogg/pseuds/thefrogg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trust and comfort trump passion when half the battle's invisible to outsiders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Between

**Author's Note:**

> This was an abandoned beginning, the idea being a platonic naked puppypile. I had the beginning and part of the middle, but the end and the connecting bits escaped me.

It happens like this --

~~~

It _starts_ earlier, before the Avengers are even called into action.

~~~

It starts because none of them --

\-- not one --

\-- is body-shy.

Steve Rogers and Clint Barton are ex-military.

Tony Stark is an exhibitionist.

The less said about Natasha, the better.

Bruce has long resigned himself to waking up in the altogether in strange places.

And Thor? Thor is. Well. Thor.

~~~

The Avengers?

Aren't military. Not even quasi-military. But after months - after over a _year_ of fighting together, of training and showering, medical and decontam, missions where armor is eaten or shredded or has to be cut off of them afterwards --

\-- nudity isn't out of the ordinary.

Clothes are just a social convention, comfortable, comforting, and in some cases, a thin protection against everyday life.

~~~

They're all otherwise engaged, romantically speaking:

Clint and Natasha are very married. No, not to each other. To Agent Coulson and Director Fury, respectively.

Bruce is still pining after Betty. Still.

Thor is handfasted to Jane Foster.

Steve and Darcy Lewis are having too much fun courting each other in old fashioned and ultra-modern ways to bother with such conventions as _marriage._

And Tony? Tony's been hung up on Pepper Potts for --

Well.

That's another story.

~~~

It _happens_ like this --

No one is quite sure how the Avengers manage to win the fight.

No one knows what happened to make them subdued and docile, even Clint and Tony dragging themselves exhaustedly to medical.

No one knows why they flinch from touch, from each other, but won't let so much as a door close between the six of them.

All that matters --

\-- in the field, the bad guys are in shackles, unconscious, bleeding.

Agent Coulson had already given orders long before the Avengers manage to clear the field. No strangers. No one getting between them. No separating the team, no untelegraphed touch.

Coulson can't -- won't -- leave them alone in medical, won't leave them to the care of less-than-trusted medical personnel. The risk is too great, something too obviously wrong with the team, with his husband (even though Clint, out of all of them, looks more frantic-worried than freaked out and buried terror), and he's not leaving it to psych to deal with.

He doesn't expect it to be Tony that breaks the cavernous silence.

~~~

"Fuck it," Tony snaps and hops off the examination table, shaking fingers tearing at his waist to pull his t-shirt free and over his head.

The soft -- whisper-soft, terribly soft -- murmurs of questions and requests and suggestions from SHIELD medical comes to a halt fast enough that the soft _whump_ of Tony's shirt landing on the floor behind him is audible to everyone.

His fingers twitch, clawing at the arc reactor as he crosses the room, unknown, or perhaps _uncaring,_ of the sudden desertion of anyone not his, not _team,_ Coulson's voice barely recognizable beyond the clash of fear and trust driving him on.

Steve doesn't flinch when Tony grabs his arm. He doesn't pull away when fingers dig into muscle. Doesn't flinch at the sound of the arc reactor unlocking. Doesn't do anything but let Tony manhandle him, turn him so they're facing each other squarely. And doesn't --

\-- doesn't do anything but stare back with that same hollow, haunted look in his eyes that Tony's sure is in his own.

"Take it out." Steve's hand is pressed against the reactor now, trapped between hard metal casing and Tony's rigid fingers.

Later, Tony would remember Coulson's voice in the background, unflappable calm stretched thin, the words _Director_ and _Xavier_ and _unconscious._ Now, all that registers is the painful, shocked horror, the quiet gasps, the confusion in Steve's eyes shifting to dawning comprehension.

"Take it _out,"_ Tony says again, harsher this time, an angry hiss.

"No." Steve's answer is flat.

"Take it out." Tony can hear his own voice rising, rage covering the terror underneath. "Everything's about me, obnoxious, tactless, narcissist with stalker tendencies, mass murderer--"

"I said no," Steve bites out, cutting him off, eyes flashing anger and understanding.

"Do it, Steve, just take it the fuck out, I'm telling you to -- I'm not worth--"

Tony can't finish, doesn't have the breath as Steve uses the grip on his hand, his greater strength to spin them around, slam Tony up against the wall and press chest-to-chest. "You're telling me to kill my best friend," Steve says. "Let me tell you about what he's worth."

"Just--"

"Shut up." Steve leans harder against him, and it's painful to breathe against his bulk. 

Speech is impossible now, but Steve is filling in the silence.

"Tony Stark is my best friend. He's a superhero, and one of the smartest men on the planet. Not just in what he's capable of, but what he chooses to do with the gifts he's been given. If you look up _generous_ in the dictionary, you'll find his picture. He doesn't have _a_ heart, he cares so much he's got _two,_ and you're asking me to kill him. So no, I'm not going to take out your arc reactor," Steve murmurs, lips moving against his jaw.

Tony can feel the vibrations in his bones, the seal of Steve's hand under his own between them, keeping his arc reactor in place. "But I--"

"Two reasons, Tony, just two -- I'll take it out to save your life, and I'll maybe, _maybe,_ take it out to save the world. That's it."

Steve's resting his forehead against him now, light press of temple to temple, breathing heavy with shock and anger and fear. Tony's knees suddenly refuse to cooperate, and Steve’s holding him up, strong arms wrapping around him and easing his shaky body to the floor. "S-sorry, I--Steve." He doesn't know how to finish, and cuts off on a strangled whimper as more bodies close in on him, more hushed whispers of reassurance.

"It's okay," Steve whispers as Natasha skins off the top half of her armor and presses close, uncaring of the thin sheen of blood trailing from cuts across her shoulder.

Tony can smell Thor on his other side, ozone and metal, the chemical tang Bruce gives off after a shift, hear Clint in the background, and gives in.

They don't talk about what they saw, how memories had been scrambled, past betrayals, past failures brought to the forefront. It doesn't matter -- Tony's already broken down that wall, let them heal it over with gentle hands and soft words.

Coulson doesn't know, he wasn't _there._

But he's one of them, and he'll keep the world at bay.

~~~

"What happened out there, Clint?"

Clint's not sure how to answer, torn between duty and _team_ like this. Usually Phil makes it easy to tell when he's being SHIELD handler and superior officer, and when he's just being concerned spouse, but mixing first name and -- 

"Barton."

Fists clench and release, clench and release at Clint's sides, and he cuts his gaze down at a slant. "You heard the same thing I did, sir, I -- at least one of them was a telepath, you know I don't -- since --" _Loki,_ he can't say, hasn't been able to since it was over.

He's been working on it.

"Felt it out there, slimy and--" He shudders at the memory, so _unlike_ Loki's mind control.

"We'll keep an eye out for you then," Coulson says gently, and doesn't have to point out the rest. Doesn't have to state the obvious, that Loki's mind control, or maybe how Natasha had freed him, had left its mark on him despite a trip upstate to make sure. 

Letting Charles Xavier make sure he was clean hadn't been pleasant, but it had served its purpose. Clint wasn't immune to telepathic influence; just aware of it when it happened, and whatever it was wouldn't hit until hours later.

"Do we have to--" Clint can see the rest of the team, huddled in a small swarm around Tony by now, taking and offering what comfort from each other they can. It's an ache in his chest, a fierce longing _want,_ and --

"Debrief can wait. Go."

Clint feels a soft nudge at his shoulder; his hands go unerringly to his armor, stripping neoprene to bare skin as he lowers himself to his knees next to Natasha.

The team doesn't acknowledge him. They just shift, unconsciously welcoming him into their little circle, letting him slip between Natasha and Steve and Thor.

~~~

Agent Coulson backs out of the room reluctantly, staring at the closed and locked door -- locked to everyone save himself, Hill, and Fury from this side -- long past the time it closed.

"JARVIS." He says it quietly, firmly; the AI is there, silent, watchful. "Save a copy of any surveillance tapes of this to Mr. Stark's servers and--dispose of them otherwise."

There's no answer, not from JARVIS, but the quality of the silence that follows changes to one of acceptance and satisfaction.

~~~

They need no words between them, not when touch and tears speak more plainly. Eventually, Tony slumps heavily against Steve, half-dozing in his exhaustion; Bruce pulls away briefly to fetch supplies.

Natasha's flinch at the cleaning of her wounds stands testimony to how deeply the injuries go, despite the fact that they are merely cuts and bruises, and the former not even needing the attention of a needle.

The words dance on everyone's lips, hang in the air, but remain unsaid, gazes dropping or cutting away out of humiliation or respect.

“What’d you see?”


End file.
